


With Stealthy Tread

by Mackaley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Consensual Somnophilia, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dry Humping, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rimming, Soft Cock, Soft Cock Blow Job, Somnophilia, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/pseuds/Mackaley
Summary: “Crowley,” he whispers. The demon doesn’t stir so he tries again. “Crowley.”It’s barely louder than the first. He can’t seem to raise his voice above a murmur, his traitorous throat damming up, keeping the sound from spilling out. Almost like he doesn’t actually want Crowley to wake up. Like he wants to watch, wants to see Crowley shake apart in his sleep, coming and making a mess in his pajamas.And then, all at once, a third option presents itself to him. A sick, secret desire niggling into his brain that makes him uneasy and wildly aroused in turn: he couldtouchCrowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 313
Collections: "O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange 2020" [OLHTS discord server]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaldosAkimbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/gifts).



> Written for the OLHTS 2020 Gift Exchange, although truthfully I’ve been wanting to write somno for awhile because I love it. Waldos, I adore you and I hope you enjoy your gift. Sorry it’s so dang long, it got away from me.
> 
> Second chapter will be up on Wednesday. Thank you always always to chamyl for betaing!

One of Aziraphale’s favorite times of the day is four o’clock in the morning. It’s peaceful - late enough that stragglers have cleared the streets, but still too early for most morning risers. He’s gotten some of his best reading, his best writing done in the quiet of that early hour, but now he likes it for a different reason: Crowley is almost always asleep at four a.m., and there’s no other time he gets to indulge in just _looking_ at the demon like he does when he’s sleeping.

Crowley still squirms under Aziraphale’s undivided attention, a symptom of lifetimes of hiding their association and affection. He’ll gaze fondly at Crowley while they feed the ducks, and Crowley will hiss quietly through his teeth, his delight only betrayed by the blush high on his cheekbones. Aziraphale will rake his eyes hungrily down Crowley’s thin frame while they make love, and Crowley buries his face in the covers, his back arching and a high wail muffled in their pillows. But as Crowley sleeps, he takes his fill, feasts on features he had memorized thousands of years ago and some that have only become familiar to him over the past several years.

There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to whether Crowley sleeps on his back or his side or spends the entire night wrapping his limbs in tangles around Aziraphale, as if even a millimeter of space between them is a personal affront. But tonight Crowley lies on his stomach, his face smushed into the long pillow he clutches in his arms, one leg jutting out straight and the other bent at his knee, like a flamingo. Aziraphale has long since abandoned the book held in his lap, choosing instead to admire his demon.

Crowley’s expressions have relaxed since Armageddon, but they ease up further in his sleep, his jaw no longer held taut and the seemingly permanent furrow in his brow smoothed away. His lips are parted slightly, gentle puffs of air escaping as he breathes slow and deep. His shoulder blades curve as he clings the pillow to his torso, gentle hills leading to the valley of his backbone, curling and rippling with too many vertebrae. The river of his spine, banked by muscle on either side, leads low, lower to his perfect, deep back dimples, as if God Herself had pressed Her thumbs into his skin. Crowley’s silk pajamas ride low on his hips, so just the top of the curve of his arse is visible. A master of temptation, even in his sleep.

Something that surprised Aziraphale when they first started going to bed together (in every sense of the phrase) was how still Crowley was in his sleep. During the day, Crowley’s every gesture is bursting with physicality, so his preternatural stillness in rest worried Aziraphale at first. But he’s found calm and tranquility in the soft in and exhale of the demon’s lungs, the rise and fall of his ribs. It’s why the sudden furrow of Crowley’s brow and the shifting of his hips breaks Aziraphale out of his reverie.

He waits a moment to see if Crowley is stirring, but he doesn’t show any other signs of wakefulness. Perhaps a nightmare, Aziraphale thinks. Crowley said he used to have them, but they seemed to have stopped after Armageddon. Crowley hugs the pillow tighter and his breathing quickens, and when Aziraphale reaches out his hand to nudge at his shoulder, Crowley rolls his hips firmly into the mattress and lets out a soft _unh_. Aziraphale freezes.

_Oh._

He snatches his hand back close to his chest, his fingers curled in a loose fist, and suddenly he feels overheated and claustrophobic. Has the bed always been this small? Crowley’s movements still and Aziraphale resists glancing upwards in prayer that this was just an errant dream. But then Crowley moans again, so loud and uninhibited through the depths of sleep, like any filter that would be present in his waking hours has vanished with his consciousness.

Aziraphale’s mind races as he finds himself in a situation he hasn’t prepared for, and as his default coping mechanism tends to be “think through every possible hypothetical and then overprepare until something short circuits,” it’s not a situation he finds himself in often and he’s at an incredible loss as to what to do next.

He could wake Crowley. Gently nudge him like he was about to and then Crowley would be embarrassed and fall back to sleep after some awkward conversation. Or maybe he’d pull Aziraphale closer and kiss him so he could properly indulge in whatever dream he’d been having. Aziraphale’s cock stirs at the idea, and this time he doesn’t stop his eyes from casting Heavenward in a plea of frustration.

He could let Crowley be, see if the dream finishes to completion. But then what does he do? Sit there while Crowley gets himself off unknowingly? Touch his own quickly hardening erection? And then the following morning, does he mention it? Would Crowley expect him to bring it up, with the evidence of what happened in his pajamas? He could feign that he hadn’t noticed, that he’d coincidentally been out of the room while it occurred. But that too would be disingenuous, unless he leaves now.

He wills his legs to swing over the side of the bed, to take him to make a calming cup of cocoa in the kitchenette, but he makes the mistake of glancing back at Crowley one last time. His limbs turn to lead and a sick twist of arousal bolts through him.

Crowley’s shallow ruts against the bed have pulled the blanket around his hips lower so Aziraphale can see the bulge in his pajamas, grinding down at an angle into the mattress. The muscles of his back and abdomen are taut and tense as he rolls his hips mindlessly, his body chasing the pleasure of his imagination. 

Aziraphale’s cock is completely hard now as he watches the familiar movements, but from this angle he’s able to fully appreciate the way the muscles of Crowley’s back shift beneath his skin as he moves his hips. He shudders as he imagines running his hands down Crowley’s flexing muscles as Crowley presses _him_ into the mattress. 

The decision of what to do is made for him suddenly, though whether it’s from a sense of propriety or his own desire he doesn’t know. He needs to wake Crowley up, and hopefully they can lazily, indulgently make love like they have on so many other slow mornings. 

He lifts a shaky hand and runs his fingertips through Crowley’s hair, not wanting to wake him abruptly. It does nothing except cause Crowley to let out a pleased hum and nudge his head into Aziraphale’s touch. Aziraphale wonders if Crowley would gasp if he tugged, if it would translate through to his dream. He shoves that thought out of his head quickly and awkwardly skirts his hand lower, hovering only millimeters over the demon’s skin until he brushes him gently on his lower back.

“Mmm, ‘ziraphale,” Crowley mumbles, his hips continuing their slow, languid rolls, the arches of his feet curling where they jut out of the blanket still tangled around his lower legs. Aziraphale closes his eyes as he steels himself against his arousal and lowers his hand to rest fully on Crowley’s back. To wake him up, he reasons. Not to intimately feel the way Crowley’s hips work themselves down, chasing a pleasure he isn’t fully aware of. Not to feel the shift of skin and muscle beneath his hand, to press his thumb into the deep dimples there. 

“Crowley,” he whispers. The demon doesn’t stir so he tries again. “ _Crowley_.”

It’s barely louder than the first. He can’t seem to raise his voice above a murmur, his traitorous throat damming up, keeping the sound from spilling out. Almost like he doesn’t actually want Crowley to wake up. Like he wants to watch, wants to see Crowley shake apart in his sleep, coming and making a mess in his pajamas.

And then, all at once, a third option presents itself to him. A sick, secret desire niggling into his brain that makes him uneasy and wildly aroused in turn: he could _touch_ Crowley. 

He imagines running his hand lower, sliding his fingers between Crowley’s cheeks and slicking them, pushing into the tight heat there. Crowley would clench around his fingers and rock back and forth, chasing his pleasure both ways like he does when Aziraphale has him pinned to the bed in the same position. How would the intrusion translate through the haze of Crowley’s dream? A buzz of arousal and stimulation filtered syrupy sweet through his sleep. 

Aziraphale pulls back suddenly and clenches his own thighs to stop his hands from wandering. He knows he won’t be able to leave the bed until this spell that’s been cast over him is broken, but he will not touch himself next to Crowley without his knowledge. So instead he watches as Crowley’s fingers clutch white-knuckled into the sheet, his hips grinding harder, quicker into the mattress. Soft whimpers and groans pour from Crowley’s mouth as he chases his climax, and they sink into every one of Aziraphale’s cells until his entire being feels like it’s vibrating beneath his skin, his breath caught in his throat and his heart oscillating between squeezing and fluttering wildly.

Until Crowley suddenly stills, the sheet clenched tight in his hand, and he lets out a moan from the back of his throat, loud and uninhibited, as he comes. Aziraphale’s fingers dig even harder into his own thighs, manicured nails causing pinpricks of pain even through the fabric. The demon’s breathing settles from its quick pace into the slow, rhythmic beat Aziraphale is used to when observing his deep slumber. Crowley’s hand slides across the sheet slowly until it finds Aziraphale’s knee and, seemingly happy to find the angel so close, fully falls back asleep again.

Aziraphale sits for a moment as he gathers his thoughts and slows his own breathing, which had quickened into pants without his realizing. He gives Crowley’s hand on his knee a quick squeeze, and then quietly slips out of the bed to make his way down the hall into the bathroom. 

When he finally pushes his pajamas around his thighs and takes himself in hand, he bites his lip nearly to the point of bleeding to stop the guttural groan in his throat from echoing through the air. He’s so close already, as on edge as if he’d been hard and aching for hours instead of only a couple of minutes. He squeezes his eyes shut, fucks into the tight grip of his fist, and lets this sudden harbored desire bloom through his imagination.

He imagines palming at Crowley’s cock as he sleeps, feeling the hard flesh beneath the soft fabric as the demon ruts up into his touch. Aziraphale rubbing his fingers along slippery labia and pushing deep into his wet heat until Crowley squirms against him. Lying between Crowley’s thighs for hours as he takes his time, sucking on his clit and stroking his inner folds gently with his tongue. So soft and slow so that Crowley’s pleasure builds and builds through the liquid, intangible nature of dreaming until he comes and spasms on Aziraphale’s tongue with a choked off gasp as his body responds on instinct alone. 

The fantasies amalgamate until it’s nothing but sweet, pliant, _trusting_ Crowley, allowing him to use his body as he sees fit for his own pleasure, to bring _Crowley_ pleasure even when he’s not seeking it. Aziraphale spills over his own fist with a breathless whine, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He cleans himself up, splashing some cool water on his face, and then heads back to bed. 

He slips beneath the covers and lies down, determined to get a little rest and just enjoy the intimacy of being this close to Crowley, the comfort of sharing space with him. As soon as he gets settled, it’s as if Crowley senses his presence. The demon reaches out his arm and pulls himself towards Aziraphale, slotting their legs together and burying his face into the angel’s soft shirt. Crowley lets out a contented rush of air as he snuggles in and then he’s still again, save for his narrow rib cage expanding and contracting with every slow breath. 

Aziraphale holds him close, buries his nose in his hair, and closes his eyes to rest. He’ll have to bring it up in the morning, he knows, but for the moment he's content to hold Crowley just like this.

* * *

“So you let me come in my pants and didn’t bother to miracle me clean?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “You’re clean _now_.”

“After I woke up sticky and uncomfortable! _Pray tell,_ Aziraphale, what were you so busy with that distracted you?”

Aziraphale pointedly avoids Crowley’s gaze and picks at a loose thread on his pillow until finally he just miracles it away in a huff. “I was preoccupied.”

“Wiiith?” Crowley drawls, a knowing tone gilding his vowels.

Aziraphale shifts his head to glare at him, both annoyed and charmed in turn at the teasing smile on Crowley’s face. He should have known this conversation would be both easier and more ridiculous while actually speaking to Crowley. He has a way of needling Aziraphale, knowing exactly how hard and where to press to make him happier, more relaxed and open about the things that cause him distress, now that Crowley can speak plainly and comfort him in the way they both desire. What a brave new world, he thinks.

“It’s hardly my fault if the sights and sounds of you reaching climax-- _affected_ me in that manner. We’ve been lovers for some time, Crowley. It’s an involunt--”

“Did you touch me?”

Crowley’s smile is still upturned in a tease, but there’s something dark, something real in his golden gaze. Aziraphale swallows, willing the swoop of nerves and hope and arousal that passes through him away. Straight to it then.

“I believe I touched your hair and your back in an attempt to wake you up.”

Crowley doesn’t blink, but his jaw tightens, the smile falling off his face. 

“Did you _touch_ me?”

Aziraphale breaks their eye contact, finding it easier to be vulnerable without it. He looks down at their hands clasped loosely between them on the bed and takes a deep, short inhale. Crowley squeezes his hand and his eyes flicker back up. 

“I wanted to,” he whispers.

Crowley’s eyes flash and Aziraphale feels the demon’s cool thumb start running along his. The steady gaze and rhythm on his thumb is almost hypnotic and he tamps down the urge to fill the silence with stammering explanations. 

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Crowley says. He scoots closer and slots his knee casually between Aziraphale’s. He gives him a crooked grin, his thumb maintaining its steady rhythm. “All the fucked up shit I’ve asked you to do to me and you think I won’t let you get me off while I’m sleeping?”

“It’s not something I would do without asking.”

“You’re asking now, and the answer is yes.” 

Aziraphale’s stomach flutters with anticipation and arousal, but a million questions and justifications and excuses run through his head. The concern must show on his face because Crowley reaches up his other hand to knead at the back of his neck. It grounds him, brings his mind back to a center focus, and he smiles thankfully. 

Crowley shifts even closer and lowers the hand at Aziraphale’s neck to play with the chest hair peeking out of the angel’s pajama shirt. 

“If it helps, I’ve thought about it before.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. “You have?”

“Oh yeah, loads. Bit hard to lust after someone for literal millennia without running through the gambit of depravity in terms of sexual fantasies. Not that this even comes _close_ \--”

“What sexual depravity do you want that we haven’t taken care of?”

Crowley gives him an admonishing look. “No, no. This is about you. Why does touching me while I’m sleeping get your angelic jollies off? Taking advantage of your sworn enemy while he's most vulnerable?”

Aziraphale scoffs. “Hardly.”

Crowley’s hand continues to run lazily along his chest, and it spreads a warm flush along his skin. Still nothing urgent, nothing hurried, although Crowley suddenly feels closer than he was before. 

“It’s--” He takes a moment, tries to sort through the feelings and desire around the thing to get to the heart of it. “I think there is something about the vulnerability, but in the other direction. It _is_ taking advantage, _using_ you, but nothing so sinister as what you're thinking. I want you to _trust_ me enough to take care of you when you can't actively consent. That I know you well enough to not do anything you don't want me to do.”

Crowley hums. “Is that all?”

“Well. It's also that you do just look so tempting at all times. Last night--I suppose there's something to the fact that your body was seeking pleasure without you being fully aware of it. I wanted to see how you would react to me, if you'd wake up or if you'd remain asleep, but responsive. There's something intoxicating about making you… _feel good_ without you knowing it's me.”

As he speaks and works through his thoughts, his cock stirs, assisted in no small part by the way Crowley has slowly pressed closer to him as he talks, running his palm in long glides between the angel’s neck and his chest where his shirt has pulled down. Crowley’s fingers start unbuttoning his shirt and he pulls the fabric aside to kiss at the angel’s round shoulder. 

“Have you ever dreamt about me?” Crowley murmurs between kisses. 

“You're the only thing I dream about.” 

Crowley groans in exasperation. “Sap.”

Aziraphale tilts his head down, giving Crowley what he's sure is a very good view of a double chin. “I meant that literally!”

“ _Sap_ ,” he repeats. Crowley drags his nails slowly up Aziraphale’s leg, up his thigh, creating streaks of white hot arousal through Aziraphale, centering in his very quickly hardening cock. Crowley slips his hand under Aziraphale’s shirt and scratches at his lower back, pulling their hips flush as he does. Crowley is hardening against him too, and Aziraphale can't help but to gently rock his hips forward, his whole body feeling tingly and shivery. 

“Obviously I was talking about very sexy, very _naughty_ dreams, Aziraphale.” Crowley’s hand continues to roam under his shirt and Aziraphale sighs into the touch, his exhale ruffling Crowley’s hair. 

“I can't say that I have.”

Crowley keeps his touch at Aziraphale’s back slow, the cradle of his hips just pressed into Aziraphale’s without much movement, their hands still clasped between them. 

“They're fantastic. 'S like--’s like you're fucking molasses.”

Aziraphale lets out a bark of laughter and Crowley laughs too. 

“Sounds sticky.”

“Can be. Your thoughts aren’t really there, like they’re trying to drag themselves into consciousness just to feel a little more. There's just a little bit of pleasure, and you kind of ebb and flow out of realizing how much it is. Just keeps going and going, and your corporation chases that down--” His hips grind forward purposefully against Aziraphale’s cock, and Aziraphale lets out a keen. “Fuck. Yeah, and then finally you come and it's so powerful it can wake you up. Just _waves_ of it--feel like anytime I've woken up from it, I'm moaning louder than anything. _Fuck_.”

Crowley finally lets go of Aziraphale’s hand and shoves it between them so Aziraphale is rutting his clothed cock against his palm. His other wandering hand tugs at Aziraphale’s hair until their lips crash together, and the angel moans against his lips, the delayed gratification of both of their arousal catching up to them. 

Aziraphale sucks Crowley’s bottom lip into his mouth, gives it a teasing bite, and then Crowley has his hand down Aziraphale’s pajamas, tugging the soft flannel down around his knees, and his cock springs free, standing red and flush in the cool morning air. Crowley takes his length in hand and strokes it with a tight grip, smears the precome starting to bead at the tip messily with his thumb. Aziraphale shuts his eyes tight against the onslaught, his mouth parting to let out breathy pants. 

Crowley’s voice is shaky, harsh with arousal like every syllable is being pulled from his throat by how much he wants it. “I want you to. Want you to touch me when I’m asleep. You know what I like.” 

Aziraphale yanks Crowley closer until there’s no space between them, the shared fantasy building between them feeding off itself in an infinite loop. He quickly shoves Crowley’s pajamas down to his thighs and takes him in hand, their knuckles brushing together as they jerk each other off. 

“Yesss, use your hands, just like that. Want you to make me feel that I’m just too _tempting_ to resist, isn’t that what you said? You’ll make me feel so good even when I’m not conscious enough to appreciate it. But you’ll appreciate it, won’t you? Me lying there so _helpless_ , so calm, so _trusting_ in you to make it enjoyable. Can’t help that my dick gets hard every time I’m around you, angel. I’m designed to be aroused by you.” 

Aziraphale is nearly delirious in his need to come, but Crowley hasn’t finished talking, hasn’t finished tapping into this direct line of desire and fantasy he hadn’t been aware of until last night. Crowley nudges Aziraphale’s hand away as he takes both of their cocks in hand, and the grip is so tight under Crowley’s long fingers that they both let out a long moan. Crowley pulls Aziraphale’s thigh over his hip, pressing them impossibly closer, and Aziraphale digs his heel into the back of Crowley’s leg, rolling his hips in time with Crowley’s strokes.

“Come on, angel. Come all over my hand. Oh shit, come all over me, come _in_ me when I’m sleeping. Wanna wake up and feel everywhere you’ve been. Fuck, fuck--”

Aziraphale doesn’t hear the rest of Crowley’s litany of swears as he comes with a shout, his spend coating Crowley’s hand and his cock in thick spurts. The white streaks of Aziraphale’s come lubricate Crowley’s grip on his own cock further until he comes too, his groan buried against Aziraphale’s chest. 

They stay tangled together, catching their breath and touching each other slowly. Finally, Crowley waves the mess between them away and flops onto his back. 

“Well. Suffice to say, I think we’re both into that idea.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale rolls onto his back as well and grabs at Crowley’s hand, threading their fingers together loosely. “I’d still like--I want you to tell me when. I don’t want to just paw at you in the night. You’ll need to tell me before you sleep if you’re amenable.”

Crowley lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s. “Can’t imagine you’ll be waiting long. I’ll let you know.”


	2. Chapter 2

It happens two weeks later. Aziraphale’s not expecting it like he was the first couple of days, his heart fluttering with excitement and mild anxiety in turn every time they crawled into bed together. Nothing had happened (well, _things_ had happened, although not while either was asleep), and Aziraphale figured Crowley needed more time to think everything through. Or maybe he _had_ thought things through and decided against the whole idea after all. It was fine. There was a separate, less sex-drunk conversation over breakfast that morning and Crowley reassured Aziraphale he would be very explicit about his request when the time came. 

The point is, Aziraphale had put it out of his mind to retain some sense of sanity. 

Crowley is late to come to bed, and Aziraphale admires him discreetly over the top of the book in his hands. Crowley’s silk pajamas are slung tantalizingly low on his hips - just one sharp tug would expose him completely - and Aziraphale thinks he might do just that, pin him down to show him what a wicked, tempting thing he is. 

Crowley slips between the covers and gently takes Aziraphale’s book out of his hands, leaning over him to place it on the nightstand while pressing a heated kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. He hums into it, whimpers when Crowley’s hands come up to cradle his face and hold him still as he controls the kiss. Sinfully long fingers dip into Aziraphale’s curls and his head is tilted back, back as Crowley licks his mouth open, his tongue swiping at his inner lip, at his teeth. 

As Crowley pushes him back against the soft pillows, Aziraphale changes his tune, thinks maybe Crowley could take control of this one. As long as he keeps his weight on top of him, his wiry strength holding him down, Aziraphale will be happy. 

But then Crowley presses a firm, final kiss to his lips, a slow lingering swipe of his tongue to his bottom lip as he pulls away. Aziraphale’s eyes fly open in protest, and Crowley’s eyes are open too, burning with a wicked intensity.

“ _Touch me tonight_ ,” he whispers, voice ragged. And then he lies down on his back, his arm propped up under his head, and closes his eyes. 

As usual, it only takes Crowley about five minutes to fall well and truly asleep, which is just enough time for Aziraphale to well and truly whip himself into a frenzy that this is finally happening, and he’s going to need to make decisions on the myriad fantasies that have been percolating through his mind over the past fortnight. He spent the first week after their discussion thinking of every possible version of how this would go, and then the entire next week firmly _not_ not thinking of it.

He waits thirty minutes, an hour, every second spent staring at Crowley. He finally makes a decision and starts where he usually does: running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Crowley, darling,” he whispers, stroking Crowley’s long hair back from his forehead. “Are you awake?”

He knows he won’t respond, knows intimately the exact pattern of breathing that Crowley falls into during a deep sleep. The fact that this fantasy is becoming reality suddenly crashes into him, and his touch becomes steady and sure. Because this subject, bringing Crowley pleasure, is one he’s an expert in. 

His second touch is light, just a gentle caress of his fingers at the crown of Crowley’s head. He’s still not fully convinced Crowley won’t wake up, not after how eager they both were to do this. But Crowley’s breathing remains steady, his chest rising and falling in rhythm. Aziraphale sinks his hand in deeper, feeling the smooth, cool strands run like silk through his fingers. 

From there he moves his hand slowly down Crowley’s long neck, across the line of his collarbones. He traces along the hard bone for several moments, his thumb dipping into the hollow just above, and then sweeps his hand down lower. 

Crowley’s skin is warm and the expanse of auburn hair at his chest tickles Aziraphale’s palm. He avoids Crowley’s nipples for the moment, and skates down to the slight swell of his stomach. As he rests there, his hand moves with each breath the demon takes, and Aziraphale feels once again so grateful for these corporations they’ve been given. He traces along the edge of Crowley’s pajamas, so close to his cock, and then runs back up his body again.

They’ve done this before - slow, unhurried explorations of each other’s bodies - but it’s never been like this. There are no eyes on him, no attention paid to him. Everything here is _for_ him, a gift that Crowley has given. He feels a surge of affection rise and his hand moves up to finally brush against one of the demon’s pert brown nipples. 

Crowley shifts under his touch, but doesn't press up into it, doesn't make a sound. It emboldens Aziraphale and he swipes at the nipple again, rolling it under his thumb, and then sweeps his hand in a broad stroke down his stomach again. 

He grazes the back of his nails across a hipbone, runs his fingertips through the neatly trimmed hair at his pelvic bone. Crowley has never let him touch this much, not without fussing or insisting he be allowed to touch back, and it's thrilling and intimate in a way he hadn't fully expected. If he wants to spend three hours just _feeling_ Crowley’s bare skin beneath his palm, he can. 

But he won't, because he has plans to implement.

After one more soft grope of a pectoral muscle, he pulls the blanket and sheet over Crowley’s legs down and tosses it to the side. He's wearing black silk pajama bottoms, his standard fare, and Aziraphale can see the slight bulge of his soft cock just below the waistband. He resists the urge to palm at it, and turns to Crowley’s face instead. 

Kissing Crowley the first time had been a revelation, and Aziraphale has loved every variation they’ve found since. Which is why he shouldn’t be surprised that when he really let himself think about it, kissing Crowley’s sleep-relaxed lips had been one of the first things to enter his mind. He leans over Crowley’s face and cups his sharp cheeks, his thumb running along his bottom lip until Crowley’s mouth parts slightly, hot puffs of air moving across Aziraphale’s face with every breath. And then he leans closer, and closer, and presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

He wasn't expecting Crowley to kiss him back, but the sensation of it is still odd. He kisses him again, for longer, and then again, licking at the space between his lips and holding his jaw steady with his hands. His tongue parts the seam of Crowley's lips and he slips it inside. The feel of Crowley’s tongue, soft and relaxed and heavy inside of his mouth, is unbearably erotic and Aziraphale groans in surprise. He licks along the edge of it, at his lips and his teeth, until he retreats with several lingering, chaste kisses. 

He trails his lips down his jaw, his neck, pressing every ounce of gratitude and love he can muster into Crowley’s skin for allowing this, for indulging every desire and every whim he has. 

It's when he makes his way down to Crowley’s stomach that the demon’s breath quickens, and Aziraphale’s half-hard cock starts to twitch fully to life. The minute reaction is intoxicating and he wants to feel, wants to hear more. 

He tugs at the waistband of Crowley’s pajamas slowly, slowly, until his cock is exposed, lying soft and limp against his thigh. Aziraphale inhales sharply, and then pulls his pajamas off his legs, tossing them off the side of the bed where they won’t be needed anymore. 

Positioning himself between Crowley’s legs without manipulating the demon’s long limbs too much proves difficult, but finally he manages as he lies flat on his stomach and stares at Crowley’s cock directly. He takes a breath and gently hauls one of his legs over his shoulder to allow him to scoot closer, and it's only then that he fully realizes how _deep_ of a sleep Crowley is in. He pushes Crowley’s other knee wider and there’s still no sign of wakefulness on his relaxed face, so Aziraphale starts amending his plans in the back of his mind.

Crowley’s cock and balls are soft and perfect, nestled gently at the crux of his thighs. Aziraphale takes his flaccid shaft gently between his thumb and forefinger and strokes up and down, feeling the spongy flesh and smooth skin slide under his touch. 

When he rubs his thumb over the underside ridge of the head, Crowley’s breath hitches and Aziraphale pauses, his pulse thundering in his ears at the first real sign that his touch is affecting Crowley. He repeats the movement, and Crowley lets out a little moan, his finger twitching where it lays limp on the bed beside him. 

“What are you dreaming about, my love?” he murmurs and kisses his inner thighs, the joint of his pelvis. Then he’s unable to resist any longer and brings the head of Crowley’s cock to his lips. He licks along the curve of it softly, his tongue darting out and pressing wet along the ridge, trailing down the side of his shaft, and then turning his attention to the head again. Finally he sucks it into his mouth, holding suction at his lips as it threatens to slip out. He sucks firmly, rolling his tongue around the length of Crowley’s cock as it pulls in and almost falls out of his mouth.

Crowley’s cock starts to fill to hardness as he keeps him in his mouth, and Aziraphale’s groan as it slowly stretches his lips, lengthens towards his throat, is echoed by the noise that spills out of Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale whimpers, his own cock sorely neglected between his legs. He keeps his attention on the smooth glide of Crowley's length under his tongue, and he’s able to bob his head more as Crowley gets harder and harder under his attention. 

He gives one more firm suck as he pulls off Crowley’s cock and takes it in hand. He ducks his head to lick at his balls, also more loose and relaxed than he’s used to, and laps along the clean-tasting skin there. Crowley’s cock jumps in his hand, and Aziraphale’s mind swims as he realizes just how much Crowley is responding to him, how much his _body_ can’t help but enjoy the pleasure he’s giving. 

His hands slip under Crowley, propping him up, as he turns his attention to his hole. This too is more soft and relaxed in sleep than in waking, and he gently probes at it with his tongue, getting Crowley’s rim wet and spit slick. It barely takes any time at all before he’s able to poke the tip of his tongue inside. 

The angle leaves much to be desired, so he carefully flips Crowley over onto his stomach and positions him with his chest pressed into the mattress, his arse sticking out deliciously behind him. Crowley’s body is slack and unable to lift himself up, so Aziraphale miracles a pillow underneath him to tilt his hips where he needs them. He parts Crowley’s cheeks and dives back in like a man starved, his tongue licking and probing at every inch he can reach until Crowley is dripping with it.

He’s spent hours between Crowley’s legs - with a penis, a vulva, and any variation of both or neither - and he reminds himself sternly before he gets caught up in the rhythm of it, the delicious ache that sets in his jaw, that there are other things he wants to explore tonight. He pulls back and presses a miracle slick finger into Crowley’s entrance, then a second, and then a third. Crowley’s rim stretches around his thick fingers as Aziraphale watches them plunge into him over and over. 

Crowley’s steadily making keening moans and little whimpers under his ministrations, and they build and build in Aziraphale’s psyche until he feels like he’ll explode with it, his cock harder than he thinks it’s ever been and leaking precome. He removes his fingers and then his pajamas with a snap, slicks his cock with another miracle, and lines it up with Crowley’s open, relaxed hole. His spongy head catches at Crowley’s rim, and Aziraphale’s breath comes out shakily as he pushes in slowly, so slowly as to not wake Crowley up. 

Halfway in, Crowley’s breath hitches sharply and he freezes, but he still appears to be asleep. Aziraphale pushes forward again until he’s seated fully, his plush belly pushing against Crowley’s tight arse. His arms slip carefully under Crowley’s, and he drapes himself heavily against the demon’s back, effectively pushing him down into the mattress. Crowley’s neck is sweaty as he noses the back of it and pushes his hips forward again, rocking into Crowley and panting out with each thrust. Crowley’s body is so hot, so _pliant_ and relaxed around him, and it feels like nothing he’s ever felt before.

“Crowley,” he whispers between the demon’s shoulder blades. “Beautiful, my love, so soft and giving. Are you dreaming of me now, buried so deep inside you?” He kisses along Crowley’s back and keeps rocking into him, just pulling his hips back a scant inch or two in a slow drag before pushing forward again. “You feel _perfect_. You’re so _giving_ , so _kind_ to do this for me. It’s nice to say those things when I won’t hear you grumble back. There is nothing I love more in this world than you.”

He lasts longer than he expects, but finally he feels his orgasm approach, his breath coming in quick pants between the murmured praises he presses into the skin of Crowley’s back. He still doesn’t pull out far, but his hips snap forward faster and faster until he finally comes with a quiet, throaty whine, grazing his teeth along the wing of Crowley’s shoulder blade. 

He takes a moment to catch his breath and then pulls out gently. After a couple moments, his come starts to leak out of Crowley, and he pushes it back in with two fingers, thrusting in and out until he’s satisfied. 

Crowley’s face and torso are still pressed into the mattress, his knees bent to around his elbows, and Aziraphale maneuvers him onto his back again with some difficulty. Crowley is all sleep-relaxed, floppy, heavy limb and Aziraphale only smacks himself in the face with the demon’s arm once, which he considers a victory.

Aziraphale sits back on his calves and takes a moment to wonder what to do next. Crowley’s cock is resting hard and red against his abdomen, but he doesn’t want Crowley to come yet in case he wakes up. The demon’s lips are open and parted and he can’t help but to lean over to kiss him again, pushing his tongue into his mouth this time with no preamble. At the first brush of Crowley’s tongue on his, he has an idea. 

He pulls back and swings his leg over Crowley so he’s straddling his chest, and opens Crowley’s mouth by hooking his thumb just over his lower teeth. He feeds his cock past Crowley’s lips until just the tip is sitting on that wet and pliant tongue. He takes the rest of his length in hand and strokes himself, the movement of it pushing his cock head in and out of Crowley’s mouth, slipping just past his relaxed lips and contorting them obscenely before slipping back out again. 

Crowley’s eyelids flutter and the muscles in his cheek twitch as every couple of thrusts his body reacts on instinct and his lips almost close over Aziraphale’s cock to suck at it. The first time it happens, Aziraphale has to slap his free hand against the wall in front of him so he doesn’t fall forward onto Crowley. He keeps masturbating, his breath coming out in shuddering gasps, and he remembers Crowley’s words about how much he wanted Aziraphale to come on him while he slept, and the thought makes his simmering orgasm suddenly imminent. 

He pulls out of Crowley’s mouth and replaces it with his thumb which Crowley sucks at as eagerly as one can while asleep. He groans deeply and gives himself a few more quick tugs until he comes, his spend painting Crowley’s chest, his long, hollowed neck, and his broad chin. 

Aziraphale removes his thumb from Crowley’s mouth and dismounts his chest, admiring the thick streaks on his neck and the come slowly dripping out of Crowley’s hole, running between his cheeks. 

Crowley’s hips are rolling fruitlessly in the air as if he were desperate to come, but without any friction he won’t find it through the haze of his dream. Aziraphale looks him over hungrily, and he feels so much love running through him that he's surprised it's not emanating off of him in visible waves. He knows their time tonight is coming to an end and decides to take pity on him. With a quick snap of the fingers, Aziraphale’s cock is replaced with a cunt, already soaked and his labia swollen with arousal. 

He straddles Crowley’s waist and takes him in hand and Crowley _groans_ at the touch, his cock twitching and spilling after being neglected for so long. Aziraphale runs the head along his slit, gasps as it catches along his clit, and then sinks down until he’s seated on Crowley’s cock. He wiggles his hips so Crowley sinks deeper, and sighs in contentment.

He wonders how long he could sit there, how long Crowley would stay hard inside of him if he didn't move. If he could warm his demon’s cock for hours until he finally, finally woke up with a lapful of very wet and very eager angel. 

Crowley’s hips buck up beneath him as soon as he has the thought, and he wonders not for the first time if perhaps they share just a little bit of a telepathic link after so long. But as nice as sitting here for the rest of the night sounds, it does seem a bit cruel and unfair to Crowley, so he starts rocking himself back and forth on the demon’s cock.

The whimpers and loud moans pour forth unbidden from Crowley’s mouth now, his hips moving as much as they can under Aziraphale’s weight as his body seeks the pleasure it’s been denied all evening. Aziraphale plants his hands on Crowley’s chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his lungs and his heart beating quickly as he nears close to orgasm.

Crowley’s eyelids start fluttering and his nose scrunches and Aziraphale realizes that he’s slowly crossing the threshold from sleeping to wakefulness. He bucks his hips forward faster, reaches a hand down to form a V with his fingers around the girth of Crowley’s cock inside him to feel the stretch of his labia around his length. He lets out a sharp cry as he grinds his clit against the palm of his hand.

The sound stirs Crowley again, and he lolls his head from side to side, his arm twitching once beside him. He opens his mouth and mumbles, “‘ziraphale?”

Aziraphale leans forward, the new angle rubbing up against his clit perfectly, and cups Crowley’s cheek in his hand. “Shh, darling. You don’t need to wake up if you don’t want to. Just stay like this, between dreaming and waking. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. You’re going to feel so good in just a moment, going to come inside me just like I came inside you.”

It takes a couple moments for the words to penetrate the syrupy sweet fog of his sleep-addled brain, but then Crowley utters a guttural groan and lifts his hand to grab onto Aziraphale’s thigh. He’s struggling to open his eyes through the haze of sleep and pleasure, but his hips buck up to fuck into Aziraphale and the angel’s mouth drops open against the onslaught. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, Crowley. No thoughts in your head but how _good_ this feels. I can tell you’re so close, darling, my sweet thing. Trust your body, let it take pleasure from me. Come on, come for me, please.”

They move in tandem, in a rhythm so well-practiced that they could do it in their sleep, until Crowley shouts and then lets out a keening wail as he comes in powerful pulses, deep into Aziraphale’s cunt. The feeling of Crowley finally spilling inside him, his cock swollen and twitching, has Aziraphale coming for the third time. He leans forward and kisses Crowley firmly to muffle his own sounds. 

They stay in that position for longer than they normally would, Crowley still struggling to drag himself into consciousness and Aziraphale being firmly pulled under as well. Finally Crowley pushes at Aziraphale’s shoulder and his eyes flutter open, though the remnants of sleep still pull at the corners of his eyes. A burst of love so powerful that it could power the entirety of London for at least a week runs through Aziraphale, and he grins back.

“G’morning, angel,” Crowley slurs.

“Good morning, darling. Although morning is only in the strictest sense right now. I believe it’s around four, but truthfully I’m not sure.”

“Too many words for four in the morning. C’mere, come sleep.”

It isn’t often that Aziraphale feels the need to sleep, even after great sex, but he’s feeling it now, the languid river of thought that accompanies drowsiness threatening to sweep him away. They disentangle and rearrange themselves so that Crowley is spooning him from the back. Before he can slip his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and press closer, Aziraphale utters an _”Oh!”_ and waves his hand so the come drying on Crowley’s skin disappears. He snuggles back into Crowley’s embrace and lets out a contented sigh.

“Did you come on my chest?” Crowley murmurs.

“A bit. And on your neck and chin. And also inside you.” 

Crowley groans and nuzzles into the back of his neck. “Fuck, that’s so hot. And I didn’t even know. Excellent, excellent idea, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale squeezes the hand resting around his middle, and he stops fighting the heaviness of his eyelids. “I can never thank you enough, Crowley. It was… perfect. You were perfect. I hope you enjoyed it as well.”

Crowley hums. “Don’t remember much 'cept the end, but the dream was good. Can’t remember what happened now.”

“Well try to remember, and we can compare notes tomorrow after a bit of a lie in, I think.” He pauses. “Darling, do you think you could--that is, could I _warm_ you while we sleep? I think I’d like to try it. I had the thought earlier that maybe I’d just sit on top of you until you woke up properly, but then it got away from me.” 

He can feel Crowley’s toothy smile at the back of his neck, and then the sudden hardness of his cock poking against his backside. Crowley gently maneuvers the angle of his hips until he slips in with a low groan. Aziraphale lets out a pleased hum and presses back against him, feeling pleasantly full.

“And I think I’d like--I’d like the same wake up call, if you’d be amenable.”

“Oh, I’m amenable,” Crowley whispers lasciviously against his ear. “Good night angel, and sweet dreams.”


End file.
